


I'll fall for you soon enough (I resolve to love)

by queenofchildren



Series: I resolve to love [1]
Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, art ho!Benvolio, building a life together, but like very low levels of it, househunting, pre-wedding, really they're both nerds though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Rosaline only asks one thing of Benvolio before their wedding - and granting it changes things for both of them.





	I'll fall for you soon enough (I resolve to love)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Sonsick" by San Fermin, which I love for them, and will probably use as title inspiration for at least three more fics.

Benvolio knew but very little about his soon-to-be wife. But one thing he did know was this: she was a proud woman, and asking did not come easily to her.

So when Rosaline Capulet asked something of him, he listened.

Rosaline had stayed sullenly quiet on most matters concerning their impending marriage, mostly speaking up on aspects that concerned her sister in some way. Whenever they met with a variety of representatives of both their houses to plan this practical aspect of the ceremony or that, she seemed wholly disinterested in the topic, and only reluctantly involved herself if pressed to do so.

But when her uncle brought her to the Montagues' family seat for one such afternoon of planning, her usual withdrawn behaviour seemed tinted with uncharacteristic trepidation, and when Benvolio offered his arm to lead her up the stairs, her grip was far too tight to be considered proper on a woman who had been raised a lady.

At first, he only took note of her distraction to escape the boredom of listening to their uncles try to outdo each other with tales of their business acumen. But the longer Benvolio watched his betrothed, the more intrigued he became.

All morning, Benvolio kept finding proof that something was wrong with Rosaline. She seemed tense, skittish, barely managed to stay in her seat as her eyes frantically dashed around the room, jumping from one lower member of his house to the next. She tried to hide it, of course, not one to easily bare her vulnerabilities, but when the gates opened downstairs to let in a whole group of Montague men, freshly returned from a ride out with their horses, she actually flinched at the sound of their boisterous laughter, and her already strenuous grip on her cup of sweetened wine tightened even more.

It was only once the heads of their two houses had declared it time for a break that he found out what was behind her sullen mood.

After a light luncheon, Lord Montague invited them all to come see the new statue gallery recently installed in the inner courtyard, one of the largest and finest collections of contemporary art in the city. His uncle's claim, though no doubt stated mostly for Lord Capulet's benefit, was true, Benvolio knew: The gallery boasted statues by the most talented and original artists of the day, and Benvolio, the only one in the family with an eye for the arts, had made sure they were arranged in such a way as to best display their individual beauty.

It was this part of the house they were headed to now, and with Lord Montague busy watching Lord Capulet for signs of displeasure at being thus upstaged, and Lord Capulet determined not to show any such sign, it was easy enough to pull his bride away from the central aisle and towards a small stone bench set between two statues.

“You are unusually quiet this morning, Capulet.“

They had gradually come to be on friendlier terms, but not so much as to make him actually call her by her given name - though the privilege would by rights be his, since they had been engaged for some weeks now. He had, he thought, made a valiant effort to hate her, as the bloody tradition of their families and his own bruised pride demanded. For a brief moment after Romeo's death, he had even attempted to blame her for it somehow - but then, he was just as much to blame for the tragedy that had ripped away their houses' heirs.

But Benvolio had never been a man to whom hatred and resentment came easily, and smart, headstrong Rosaline was a difficult woman to hate. He may bristle at the way she turned up her nose at him, may feel the urge to take her down a peg or two with a well-aimed barb from time to time. But now, two months into their engagement, he only antagonized her for sport, and his jabs were merely meant to sting, not wound.

Now, Rosaline showed once more that candidness he had admired, even envied in her before: She neither tried to evade his question nor to deny his observation, but came straight out with her answer.

“I have a favour to ask of you.“

Her tone was so grave and serious that he could not help but burst out laughing.

“A _favour_? _That_ has you acting like the world is ending? Capulet, I know we're not the most well-suited of couples,“ she made a face and he smirked – reminding her of her distaste for their situation was always equal parts entertainment and self-flagellation, “but I am not a monster, nor am I miserly with my uncle's money. Whatever you need, just tell me.“

But when his merriment, usually a cause of irritation to her, was not greeted with some kind of sardonic retort, he did begin to worry about her in earnest. What could possibly be weighing on her so much?

“It is not a small favour.“

“And yet, big as it may be, you _will_ have to actually ask it before I can set about granting it.“

She sighed, nodded her head distractedly, and then finally came out with the truth.

“I would ask that we see about some place for us to live other than your uncle's house. I know Lord Montague would prefer to keep us close, but... I cannot imagine spending all my days among the members of your House. To marry a Montague would be one thing, but to live among them... I could not bear it.“

He could already feel his hackles rising at this display of her consistent prejudice against all who bore his name. But she continued, and he realised shamefully that it was more than prejudice that fed her current unease.

“My father was killed by a Montague. But there was a whole group of them attacking him, and they never revealed which man held the blade that pierced his heart. We never found out his name, and he went unpunished.“ She looked down in her lap, where she was wringing her hands nervously. “For all I know, he could have been sitting at the table with us and our uncles, advising them on how best to invest my dowry." She raised her head again, eyes glistening with tears but meeting his gaze straight and firm. She must hate being forced to ask anything of him, but if she had to, she'd do it with her head held high - and this too he admired. "I beg of you, do not make me live here.“

For a moment, he was struck dumb by the anguish in her voice, the enormity of her suffering. His own parents had died of perfectly ordinary causes - a riding accident and a fever caused by an imbalance of the humours, respectively, and though he had often mourned the absence of parents of his own, he had been too young to remember them in any detail. For Rosaline and her sister, the loss must have been so much more painful, and to imagine being forced to walk among the same company as her father's murderer, to carry the same name as him... It was impossible to conceive of.

The childish part of him that could never resist teasing her had been set on dragging this conversation out, making her suffer a little before granting her favour. Now, that was out of the question.

Impulsively, he laid his hand on top of hers, and felt it tremble under his palm.

"You needn't beg. I will find us somewhere to live other than this house. I can't keep you from being forced to mingle with the members of my house, but I'll make sure that your own home will be one where you can always feel safe."

She looked startled, perhaps not expecting kindness in response to her question, and he felt the need to reassure her again that she would not be tortured with reminders of her father's death, at least not in their home.

"I promise."

***

 

It was a promise Benvolio kept to, and worked to fulfill with a vigor that surprised himself. But of course, a house of their own was not the worst idea: They may have been forced into this marriage, but perhaps they could still carve some small bit of freedom out of it for themselves. Build a life together, that seemed too grand an endeavour. But buy a house? _That_ he could do, especially if his uncle was paying.

So, whenever he was free of wedding planning and discussing business matters with his uncle and attending social obligations as the new heir of House Montague, Benvolio scoured the city for a dwelling of their own, and, once he had found it, set about convincing his uncle to give it to them as a wedding gift. He had to swear on his mortal soul and all his dead loved ones' graves that his wish to move out of his uncle's house was not indicative of a wish to move out of his sphere of influence and lay down the responsibilities of House Montague as well, and eventually, his uncle consented.

Which was a good thing, because the house he had found was _perfect_. Across the river from the new Capulet duomo, the modestly sized mansion was about as far from the Montagues' palazzo as one could get without actually leaving town. The part of Verona it was situated in was unfashionable enough to prevent surprise visits from Montague women, and far enough away from the pleasure haunts around Via Frata to make it unlikely that drunk Montague men would pass by and pester them on their way back from a night of revels.

Despite its being situated in the newer part of town, the house itself was certainly comfortable: large enough to adequately represent the noble status of its mistress, but not so large as to keep her occupied in its running all day long. And it was pretty, with gardens to walk or sit and read in and a view across the river to the cathedral. The mansion's proximity to the new cathedral was a nod to his betrothed's Capulet name, a reminder of it once she had to give it up, but it was an indulgence of his own, too: Benvolio looked forward to watching the masterful edifice get finished, and he thought there was something to be said for waking up to the sight of its perfect proportions, and be reminded that it would no doubt outlive them all by centuries, far above the city's petty squabbles.

And standing in what was to be their bedroom, looking towards the slanting arches of the near-finished cathedral, Benvolio thought that perhaps this house could be a fresh start for him too – could even, in time, turn into the kind of home he had not known since he was but a little boy.

Then again, for that to happen, his wife-to-be had to actually agree to move in, not to mention abandon enough of her resentment to give them a chance to make room for such foreign concepts as warmth and joy. But the house... the house was there, just waiting to be called a home. Now the only thing left to do was show it to its future mistress.

Due to a variety of restraints and obligations, Rosaline had not had time to assist him in his endeavour, but he was sure would nonetheless like to have an opinion of her own about the matter before it was decided. Terefore, with all the formality required of their not-yet-married state, Benvolio applied to her uncle for permission to take his niece out on a carriage ride through the city, under the pretext of visiting the cathedral where their wedding was to take place, and was granted his wish on condition that a chaperone be present.

Accompanied by her cousin's nurse and guarded by a good half-dozen Capulet men, Rosaline entered their future home for the first time, and Benvolio found that he felt a certain trepidation about her reaction to it. He knew not why it should matter, given that he had certainly fulfilled her requirement of placing her out of the immediate presence of too many Montagues, but he found himself hoping, fervently, that she would _like_ the house, rather than just silently accept it.

And in a rare fortunate turn, Benvolio's wish was granted.

On the way here, Rosaline's face had shown only confusion and suspicion at being driven so far away from the houses of the other noble families. But as they toured the mansion, the nurse trailing after them at a distance that indicated she would not take her chaperoning duties too seriously, Benvolio could gradually watch as the house won over his betrothed just as it had enchanted him.

First, her eyes widened in awe as they followed the staircase in the entrance hall up to the first-floor gallery. Then, her face lit up when she saw the dining room and parlour, each a perfect blend of splendour and comfort. And finally, when he led her out to the gardens to show her the view over the river, an astonished gasp escaped her.

Quietly, as if afraid to disturb the tranquility of the summery garden, Rosaline took a few hesitant steps forward, then a few more, and soon she was striding about the gardens, looking this way and that with an increasingly awed expression. Benvolio followed at her heels, mesmerized. For as quickly as his betrothed was becoming enamoured of the refuge he had found her, he was becoming enthralled with her. It seemed that fair Rosaline, when given occasion to be happy, became something more than fair: she became divinely beautiful, and impossible to look away from.

Her joyful dash through the gardens, hands outstretched to let them brush the blooming rosebushes, face breaking out into a smile to rival the bright morning sun, eventually brought them to the wall marking the end of the property, beyond which the ground abruptly dropped off towards the river. Here, stone benches invited visitors of the garden to sit down and enjoy the panoramic view, while a portico overgrown with roses and ivy granted them shade.

Having long since forgotten her initial attempts to hide her satisfaction, now his betrothed apparently abandoned all pretense as she turned to him and clasped his hands - a gesture so sudden and unexpected it made his stomach swoop.

"I could not have imagined a better place to live."

From that moment, Benvolio could call this day a triumph and consider her won over, perhaps take the occasion to gloat about his success, or tease her about the unheard-of situation of a Capulet praising a Montague. But, perhaps intoxicated by the tremor in her hands and the warmth in her voice, Benvolio felt the need to impress her even more. With her hands still clasping his, he kept extolling the virtues of their new home.

"The gardens may not be as impressive as your uncle's, but with a bit of work, they could be reasonably pleasing, as could the house. There's a well-lit room upstairs that could easily be turned into a study for you, since I assume it was the reading that drew you to the nunnery and not the praying. And the kitchens..."

He never got to tell her of his plans for the kitchens, for he was, quite suddenly, cut off by a pair of lips pressed to his, softly and shyly, as if she was as surprised by this turn of events as he was.

Before he had time to fully comprehend what had happened, she was drawing back again, meeting his gaze.

"Thank you."

If this was to be the extent of her gratefulness, he would consider his efforts more than rewarded, and himself a lucky man despite all expectations to the contrary.

But Rosaline was still holding on to his hands, still standing closer than she ever voluntarily had before, and still watching him, with a curious expression that suggested lively mental activity in that stubborn mind of hers. Her scrutiny made his heart beat faster suddenly, and her proximity caused his insides to clench with anticipation – and gave rise to an unexpected, aching _need_.

Then she leaned closer still, slowly, haltingly, until there was just enough space left between their lips for her breath to escape, and mingle with his... then just enough for him to feel her lips tremble... and then, none.

It was still soft, this second kiss, but there was more substance to it, more curiosity, more purpose. She seemed to be searching for something, and the part of himself that all too easily believed his uncle's chastisements wondered if he was being compared to the last man she had kissed. But it mattered not, not when her lips were full and soft and her hands trembling slightly where they grasped his. Not when for weeks their touches had been nothing but play-acting, and their gazes the only honest thing between them – inquiring on his end, resentful on hers. She had chosen to break with that tradition, to approach him in such an open, vulnerable manner, and he would be damned if he scared her off now.

So he kept still, only moving towards her enough to show that he was very much a willing participant in this little endeavour of hers, and allowed her to set the pace. It was not what he was accustomed to, and the pounding in his blood tried to compel him to simply place his hands on her waist and pull her close, so that they might get lost in that kiss together.

But he kept still, and her kiss, that fragile, beautiful thing, lingered for he knew not how long. Time seemed to have slowed and stilled around them, and any sense of place had altogether ceased existing – for surely, something like this could not possibly happen here, in Verona.

When she drew back once again, he did not know if she had found what she had been looking for. But there was a certain startled wonder shining in her eyes, a glowing softness on her face that he fervently hoped he'd have occasion to see again.

Gradually, he became aware of the landscape of sounds around them once more – the faraway hammering from the cathedral site, the hum of bees in the roses above their heads, the shuffling footsteps of the nurse as she drew closer to take up her chaperoning duties once more.

“The room with the most sunlight should be Livia's, and the kitchen needs more windows,“ she announced, suddenly, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to remember that that was what he had been talking about, before.

Then he grinned, suddenly feeling lighter and brighter than he thought humanly possible.

“Anything for my beloved.“

She rolled her eyes at the teasing moniker, as he had expected. But that hint of a smile was still there  - and it stayed there all the way until he helped her descend the carriage back at the Capulet residence.

 

 

 


End file.
